Widows' Watch (2 page)

Monday, September 27, 7:05 P.M.

Harmony went back to Elena's house to start dinner. Leo and Elena began their canvass of the neighborhood with Mrs. Ledesma, who confirmed her conversation with Dimitra that afternoon.

“We talked about roses,” said Gloria Ledesma. They had found the lady sitting on a swing in the back yard, scowling at her rose bed. “All that rain in August,” she grumbled. “I've got black spots, aphids. It's the greenhouse effect, you know. People using deodorant. Who cares what armpits smell like?”

“What time was it when she stopped to talk?” asked Leo.

“Speak up, young man.”

Leo shouted his question.

“What do you care? Two old women talking about roses. I suppose it's against the law to grow roses, just like it's against the law to water them. You ought to be out catching criminals instead of bothering old ladies.”

“Boris Potemkin was killed today,” shouted Elena. She'd never been overly fond of Gloria Ledesma, who was a grouch.

“I know that. Police cars all over the street. Like I said, why aren't you trying to find out who killed him?”

“We are,” said Elena. “Did Dimitra mention his death to you?”

“No. And if you're thinking Dimitra killed him, she didn't. Although she had reason,” Mrs. Ledesma added, her small brown face screwing up angrily.

“What would that reason be, ma'am?” asked Leo loudly.

The old lady squinted at him, then turned away. “How would I know?” she muttered. “And I don't know what time Dimitra was here. You think I'm running to look at the clock every ten minutes so I'll know what time my neighbor stopped to chat?”

“Was it early afternoon or late?” Elena asked patiently.

Mrs. Ledesma scowled. “I stopped having gas from lunch, so I suppose it was late. Every meal I eat—gas and heartburn. I'm lucky to have an hour when I'm not in pain, and then it's time to eat again. Got gas right now.”

“What time do you eat dinner?” asked Elena mildly.

“I eat at five on the dot every day. A healthy TV dinner.”

“Do you know of any problems in the Potemkin family?” asked Leo. “Did you ever hear any arguments or see any evidence of physical abuse?”

Gloria Ledesma got up and plucked a mildewed leaf. “They were great ones to squabble,” she admitted. “Always shouting at each other.”

“What did they fight about?”

Mrs. Ledesma glanced at Leo scornfully. “How would I know?” she said. “In case you haven't noticed, I'm hard of hearing. I get the noise, not the words. And abuse?” The old lady shrugged. “People of my generation don't talk about that sort of thing. But Dimitra—she had a lot of accidents.”

“What about Lance?” asked Elena, wondering if Boris had abused his son as well as his wife.

“Lance wasn't allowed home. Boy's a sodomite. Did you know that? His father kicked him out. Well, I can understand that, except that maybe Lance wouldn't have been what he is if it weren't for Boris.”

“You mean you think his father abused him sexually?” asked Elena, astonished.

“No, of course not. Boris didn't like men. Or women. But Lance—he was a good boy, always real nice to me and Mr. Ledesma. Never heard a word against him until Boris kicked him out. That's when Lance got a job at one a those men-only bars. You know what I mean? Where the men dance with each other. Maybe that job got Lance started on unnatural behavior.” Mrs. Ledesma shrugged. “I never did like Boris.”

“Did you see any strangers in the neighborhood this afternoon?” Leo asked.

“There's a new mailman,” said Mrs. Ledesma. “And a young fellow in a big brown truck. Delivering parcels.”

“No one loitering around?” Leo asked.

“Just Dimitra and me.” Mrs. Ledesma snickered.

“Don't you find it odd that she didn't mention Boris' death?” Elena doubted that a dead husband would have slipped Dimitra's mind.

Mrs. Ledesma shrugged. “I think when Dimitra broke her hip, she must have broke her head too. She's been sorta batty since then.”

Elena didn't argue. She'd noticed the same thing.

“I'll tell you who probably killed him. That little weasel, Ashkenazi.”

“Omar?” asked Elena, surprised. “Why do you say that?”

“Oh, he's had his eye on Dimitra,” said Gloria Ledesma. “The two of them used to sneak off to that senior citizens center and play chess. Dimitra got around. She had her gentlemen friends.”

“You're surely not saying she was unfaithful to Boris?”

“At her age? Don't be dumb. But he knew she was attractive to men. That's one of the things that made him so mean, I wouldn't be surprised.”

Elena had certainly never thought of Dimitra Potemkin as a femme fatale. How many femme fatales did you find pushing walkers? But then Dimitra had been pretty spry before she broke her hip.

“Ashkenazi probably figures he can marry her now. Get his hands on Boris' pension. How much can a retired rug salesman make?”

“I thought he owned that store,” said Elena. “I remember him saying his father founded it.”

“His father did, and the old man held the reins until he dropped dead doing his income taxes, but it wasn't ten years after Ashkenazi inherited that he went bankrupt. He's a dumb little weasel. Always talking about those stupid rugs. As if they were better than a painting of the Blessed Jesus. As if they were holier than a statue of the Virgin of Guadalupe. After he went bankrupt, someone bought the place and hired him on as a salesman. That's what he was most of his life. A salesman. And then he claimed he slipped a disk lifting carpets. Filed for workmen's compensation. Now he sits around his house pretending something's wrong with his back.

“Well, Dimitra's a fool if she marries Ashkenazi. Now she's got rid of Boris, she might as well enjoy herself.”

“Neat lady,” said Leo as they walked to the house on the other side of the Potemkins'. “Mr. Ledesma probably died to get away from her.” Elena laughed. “Still, she's given us a lead. Love and greed are popular motives for murder. Maybe the rug salesman offed Boris.”

“I doubt it,” said Elena dryly. “He's a tiny atheist pacifist. But how about her theory that working in a gay bar turns you gay?”

“Maybe she's right,” said Leo.

“Bull,” said Elena. “There's evidence that it's genetic. Differences in the brain, that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, well.” Leo shrugged. “Looks like the son might have reason to kill the old man. And Mrs. Potemkin had a motive.”

Elena nodded. All this had been going on in her neighborhood, and she'd never noticed. Some detective she was. Dimitra had a lot of accidents. Gloria Ledesma's words echoed in Elena's head.

“So did we learn anything there besides the fact that she thinks the carpet guy did it?” asked Leo.

“The possibility that Boris abused his wife and the fact that he turned against his son.” Elena thought back over the conversation. “If Gloria Ledesma eats at five on the dot and has gas until an hour before meals, Dimitra came by between four and five.”

“I can just see the D.A. cross-examining Mrs. Ledesma about flatulence,” said Leo, grinning.

“Hey, you don't know it's flatulence. Maybe she belches. And if the coroner says Boris died before four o'clock, Dimitra's in the clear. Probably.”

“Maybe Mrs. Ledesma killed him.”

The two of them went laughing up the walk to the residence of Amy and Ben Fogel, a couple who had lived together so long that they looked like twins. They were perched on a nubby brown sofa watching the taped recording of a game show, Amy crocheting an antimacassar like the ones that protected every chair-back in their crowded living room.

“What a terrible thing,” said Amy. “Shot in his own house.”

“Makes you wonder whether he was shot with his own gun,” said Ben.

“Do you know what kind of gun it was?” asked Leo.

“Handgun,” said Ben Fogel. “Look at that, Amy. She's just won that dining room set, and I knew the answer to that question.” The winner on the television screen was jumping up and down, screaming, hugging the game show host.

“Yes, dear, but we wouldn't want that dining room set. It's tacky. We saw him just this morning,” said Amy. “Boris. He was shouting at the dogs for doing something—well—indiscreet in his front yard.”

Elena wondered what. Dog sex? Dog urination?

“Would you know what time that was, ma'am?” asked Leo.

“Twelve-thirty.”

“Would that be exact or approximate?”

“Exact,” said Ben. “Today was our day for flexible sigmoidoscopy. Once a year, you know. Have to watch out for colon cancer. We always go together.”

“We do everything together,” said Amy.

His and hers colon exams? Elena suppressed a grin.

“And we allow ourselves plenty of time to get there,” said Amy.

“Haven't had a speeding ticket in fifty-five years of driving,” said Ben. “Don't intend to get one in my golden years.” He chuckled and stroked the tip of a knobby index finger over the white hair that grew from the rim of his ear. “So we know it was twelve-thirty because that's when we planned to leave, and we always leave on time.”

“We believe in timeliness,” said Amy.

“Ambulance and police cars everywhere when we got back,” said Ben. “Had a hard time getting into my driveway. We always go out to eat after flexible sigmoidoscopy. Can't eat before, you know. Otherwise, we might have heard the shot.”

“Did you ever hear any arguments between the Potemkins?” Elena asked.

“All the time,” said Amy Fogel. “The worst was the day Dimitra broke her hip.”

“You think Boris was responsible?”

“We wouldn't know that,” said Amy guardedly.

“But they were quarreling because he found out she'd been in touch with Lance,” said Ben Fogel. “Boris was an unpleasant person. I'm sorry to say it, and I realize that Lance has his peculiarities, but he was a kind boy and always good to his mother.”

“Did you ever hear any arguments between Lance and Mr. Potemkin?”

“Oh, yes. After Dimitra broke her hip, Lance and Boris had a terrible fight. Lance came to the house to visit. Bringing flowers. Dimitra loves flowers,” said Amy.

“It was the day Boris usually went to the V.F.W.,” said Ben. “He came home early and caught Lance in the house, chased the boy out to the back yard by the bomb shelter.”

“I think Lance was the one who insisted that they go outside. He wouldn't want to upset his mother by yelling at Boris in the house,” Amy objected.

“That was where Dimitra broke her hip. During one of Boris' air raid drills,” Ben explained.

“Air raid drills?” echoed Leo.

“Boris held them every month. He was sure the Communists were going to destroy Los Santos with nuclear missiles.”

“The end of the Cold War must have been a big relief to him,” Leo muttered.

“Not at all,” said Ben Fogel. “Boris thought glasnost was a Communist plot to catch us off guard. He upped the drills to once a week.”

“Until Dimitra broke her hip,” Amy added. “She can't manage steps anymore.”

Elena shook her head. She'd never realized how really squirrelly Boris Potemkin was.

“Boris told me once that he had to keep a gun in the house to protect himself from the K.G.B.,” said Ben.

Elena wondered if she was supposed to add the K.G.B. to their list of suspects. “You were saying about the argument between Lance and Boris out by the bomb shelter.”

“Oh, yes. Well, Lance said his father ought to be shot for what he did to Dimitra, and Boris shouted back that if Lance ever showed up at their house again, he'd do worse.”

Leo whistled softly. “Does Lance strike you as the type who would—”

“Of course not,” said Amy Fogel. “He was a lovely child. Prettiest blond curls I ever saw, and he used to help me carry my groceries in. Wouldn't take a penny. Such a nice boy. I don't care what they say about him. Oh look, Ben. Look at that grandfather clock they're going to give away.”

“Did you see Mr. Ashkenazi today?” Elena asked.

Amy Fogel dragged her attention away from the clock on the television screen. “Why, yes. He was out on his porch meditating in the lotus position. Omar says he owes the rehabilitation of his back to surgery and yoga.”

Elena nodded. She too had seen Omar Ashkenazi on his front porch with his legs crossed, but she didn't really think he was meditating. More likely he was watching the goings-on in the neighborhood.

“He waved goodbye to Dimitra when some woman came and picked her up,” said Amy.

“That's right,” Ben agreed. “We were getting the booklet the Avon lady left. Omar told Dimitra to have a good time at the center and that he wished he could be there playing chess with her. And she said, ‘That's not possible anymore, Omar,' and climbed into the car.”

“They used to be good friends,” said Amy, “but I'm afraid Boris was the jealous type. Not that there was anything to be jealous of,” she added hastily. “Boris was just bad-tempered. Omar was

still meditating when Boris yelled at the dogs. One of the things Boris said was, ‘Go over to the rug dealer's yard, you mutts. Give him something to watch.'”

“That's right. He did say that,” said Ben. “And Omar never looked up, even when Boris shouted something about not coveting thy neighbor's wife. I don't suppose Omar even heard, since he was meditating. Boris gave up and went in. Slammed his door.”

Omar Ashkenazi could come out of meditation to speak to Dimitra, thought Elena, but he played possum when he was insulted by Boris. Could that have been the last straw for Omar? Maybe he'd gone over and shot Boris because he had heard that Bible quote about coveting a neighbor's wife.